Money

Free Money, Firsts, and Finding My Voice

Today I looked at the financial package for the PhD program.

Tuition. Fees. Stipends. Numbers that could make a girl who’s been unhoused flinch. But right under them was another word: scholarships.

So I’m looking at scholarships and planning to apply for scholarships because that is free money. It takes time. Essays, transcripts, recommendation letters, deadlines tracked in my planner. But there are millions of opportunities to go to school if you’re willing to do the work. And I’m willing.

I am looking at going back to school and starting this PhD program because I will be the first person in my family to get a PhD.

That matters. My mother and father did not have much schooling. They had work ethic, survival, “figure it out” as a curriculum. My mother still told me, “You’re not hopeless, you’re developing,” when report cards said otherwise. My father showed me how to show up even when you’re tired. They didn’t have degrees on the wall, but they gave me the foundation to hang mine.

So this PhD isn’t just for me. It’s for them. It’s for the girl who was told she was behind,who found it easier to write than speak, who didn’t go to prom. It’s proof that the cocoon stage ends. The butterfly files for FAFSA.

Today I went to Toastmasters at the state building and loved the people.

I walked in an introvert. I love writing — Writing is my safe place. It’s how I survived the silent year when I struggled with insecurity and confidence.

But speaking fascinates me.

Standing up, clearing my throat, trusting that my voice matters even when my hands shake. The people at Toastmasters didn’t care that I wasn’t polished. They cared that I showed up. They clapped for the effort, not just the eloquence. And for my table topics I was given a blue ribbon.

I’m ready to speak. I’m ready to write. I’m ready to go back to school.